


Between Spinning Records

by voleuse



Category: The Class
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 22:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17010195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: I’d change my clothes, assume the weight of tragedy.The truth can’t lie dormant in the aftermath.





	Between Spinning Records

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butterflymind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflymind/gifts).



> Set shortly after the series ends.

i. _let down hundreds of vacant chairs_  
One of their aunts--one of their father’s cousins--came to stay with them, for a while. To Tanya, her presence was a hollow thing: assurance through convention, rather than comfort. But it was nice to have Auntie Sandra there, Tanya thought, on those nights when she woke up in the middle of the night, shivering and seeing shadows and blood cast across the room. Just knowing it wasn’t all on her, to keep her brothers alive, fed, safe. Milk in the fridge, leftover fritters heated in the microwave, and Tanya thought Auntie Sandra’s chili sauce was too sweet, but she never dwelled on why.

Past midnight, sitting alone in the kitchen, Tanya ate, and resolutely thought about trigonometry. About Jacobean poets. About the last session she had with Quill, and how she needed to sweep her leg just a bit farther in order to keep her balance, and the weight of a staff in her hand.

Her laptop beeped, and she accepted the video call out of habit, though she turned the volume down a few notches. “It’s late, Ram.”

“Yeah, well.” Ram’s smile was weary, and his mouth moved a quarter-second slower than the sound did. “I figured you must sleep as well as I do, lately.” His skin looked sallow under fluorescent lights--he and his mum had moved out of their flat to stay with her sister, and he’d been stuck using the kitchen table as his work space at night. 

Tanya popped another fragment of fritter in her mouth, but the extra moment of silence didn’t keep her from-- “You and April not much for cuddling nowadays?” Tanya made a vague gesture over her cheek, her collarbone. “With all of the, you know.”

Ram squinted at her. “Shut up,” he said, but there was no heat in it. “It’s complicated.”

Tanya straightened in her chair. “Wait, you two still-- How do you-- Does she have--”

“No.” Ram shook his head. “No. I am not getting into this conversation. Again.”

“Fine.” Tanya rolled her eyes. “Prude.”

“Pervert,” Ram said with a modicum of affection. “Did you finish the maths homework? I’m stuck on the last page.”

“Give me a second.” Tanya pulled her laptop closer, wiping her fingers on her pajamas before she opened up her notes. She glanced at Ram, and he crossed his eyes at her, and she laughed.

 

ii. _the formative event of her childhood taken_  
Some days, April worried the baby _(did they call them babies? Cubs? Spawn?)_ was too delicate for her clumsy hands, too precariously held by arms that sometimes became formless when she let her attention wander past the circumference of a room. Other days, the baby dragged its needled teeth up the shadow swirl of April’s arm, reminding her that Quill traditionally ate their way out of the womb. 

Miss Quill’s entrance was heralded by the click of heels against slate. April stood, bouncing the baby against her hip, feeling the dissonance of her two bodies echoing against each other. The baby clutched at her arm and April cooed, hoping to forestall another claw incident.

“Hello,” Miss Quill called out as she entered the room, but of course she was talking to the baby. She opened her arms and April handed the baby over, averting her eyes because Miss Quill, it turned out, became quite embarrassed if caught expressing affection. After a few moments, April coughed politely and returned her attention to them.

“Any luck?” April asked. She crossed her arms. Uncrossed them. Felt the parameters of her body shift, reform into a teenage girl, then back to Shadowkin.

Quill watched April morph for a moment, then shook her head. “Still no sign of Ames, and there’s no word of when a new head teacher will arrive.” She walked across the room and set the baby into its, well, what the Quill equivalent of a playpen was, and April had grown used to the joyful screech of the baby as it attacked one of the posts. “Someone will appear to torment us eventually,” Quill said. “They always do.”

April nodded. “Well. I’d best head home, then.” She closed her eyes and concentrated, willing herself to condense. It took a minute, but she’d got so much better in the past few weeks. When she opened her eyes, she thought she caught something like sympathy fleeting across Quill’s face.

Quill looked away. “Try not to frighten any humans on the way,” she said.

April bit her lip, holding back a quip about Quill being worried. Instead, she nodded, and took a deep breath, and departed.

 

iii. _in plain sight his own highest hopes_  
Matteusz brushed his hand against the back of Charlie’s neck, mostly to see the way the corner of Charlie’s mouth twitched up into a smile, still somewhat shy, even after everything. The evening air was cool, and the park was empty of monstrous aliens, as far as they had checked.

Charlie leaned closer to Matteusz with a quiet sigh. His shoulder warm against Matteusz’s chest, a stark contrast to the ground, cold even through the blanket they’d spread over the grass. Matteusz pressed his lips against Charlie’s temple, caught one of Charlie’s hands in both of his. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmured, knowing that he might not enjoy the answer.

“I’m thinking,” Charlie started, then stopped. He cast his gaze up at the sky, where the moon was just starting to become visible. “It’s silly,” he said.

Matteusz relaxed, just a little. “I like silly,” he replied. 

“On Rhodia,” Charlie said, pausing to clear his throat. “On Rhodia, in the Southern palace library--”

Matteusz allowed himself a snicker, but followed it with a reassuring squeeze of their hands. 

Charlie acknowledged the dig with an answering squeeze. “I had this favorite spot in the library, far in the back corner, but near the windows. When I wasn’t needed for anything, I would hide there, sometimes, and draw. Sometimes read. I’m not sure which of the librarians noticed, but when I was twelve, someone put this oversized,” he chuckled, “fluffy green chair next to the desk I usually sat in.” 

“That sounds nice,” Matteusz said, trying to picture a younger Charlie ensconced in plush alien furniture.

Charlie’s expression turned wistful. “It was.” He looked at Matteusz. “I just,” he said, “I wish I could show it to you.” 

Matteusz dipped his head to Charlie’s, catching him with a kiss, then a deeper one. When their lips parted, Charlie panted a bit, and Matteusz traced Charlie’s jaw lightly with his fingers.

“Maybe,” he said to Charlie, “you will show me someday. Maybe there is a way.” And Charlie smiled, and then they stopped speaking, for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Title, summary, and headings adapted from Sarah Mangold’s “Household Mechanics."


End file.
